


Turnabout's Fair Play

by sans_patronymic



Series: Winning Combination [3]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Companionable Snark, Developing Relationship, F/M, First Time, Mating Bites, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Rough Sex, Three Year Gap (Dragon Ball)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 10:40:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20290096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sans_patronymic/pseuds/sans_patronymic
Summary: Bulma is 85% sure Vegeta keeps breaking the gravity machine on purpose. Luckily for him, Dr. Briefs doesn't get mad--she gets even.





	Turnabout's Fair Play

**Author's Note:**

> Behold, the "furtive, intense quickie" referenced in the last story! This is set before "A Prize-Winning Idea," but it's thematically (and literally) third in the series, so I think I'll leave it here.

“Are you _serious_?” Bulma spat at the vid-comm, “This is the third time _this week._”

On screen, the Saiyan prince folded his arms across his chest, while the Gravity Chamber’s emergency siren droned in the background. Yet another malfunction. The look on Vegeta’s face was pure Unbothered Royalty.

“Perhaps if you repaired it properly, this wouldn’t happen,” he said.

“Perhaps if _you_ stopped overriding my safety protocols, this wouldn’t _keep_ happening!”

“Are you going to fix it or aren’t you?”

“Ugh—_fine_. Give me ten minutes. And you’d better turn that damn alarm off before I get there,” she declared, hanging up the call with as much disdain as a person could put in a button-press.

At this point, Bulma was eighty-five percent certain Vegeta was fucking with her. This was no accident. Malicious sabotage, that was the only explanation as to why she had needed to replace eight containment sensors in the span of five days. He was fucking with her and she was going to get even. The only question was how.

Practically everything seemed to disgust Vegeta, but nothing got a rise out of him like a little good, ol’ fashioned coquetry. If she called him a bastard, he’d laugh in her face. Call him a _handsome_ bastard, however, and he skulked away like an embarrassed middle-schooler. A fascinating feature and one that Bulma had been waiting for an excuse to exploit. She marched to her closet, a plan crystalizing in her mind.

When Bulma arrived at the Gravity Chamber, dressed in an outfit that could best be described as ‘a mechanic’s wet dream’, the alarm was still blaring. She strode in, giving her hips a bit of added wiggle as she made her way to the control panel and disabled the alarm. In the middle of the room, Vegeta continued shadowboxing as if nothing had happened. A jab left, hook right, a roundhouse kick that flowed seamlessly into a back tuck.

“Well?” Bulma asked, leaning against the console, “What’d you break this time?”

Vegeta paused the assault against his imaginary opponent. He glanced at her. Then glanced again. Was his face flush from exertion or was it because the top she was wearing was Cleavage Central?

“Matter compressor,” he mumbled and dropped to the floor to start crunches.

Bulma made sure to bend nice and slowly as she opened the access panel. The matter compressor was not so much broken as it was unplugged. The feed line, however, was _definitely_ broken, with an Almost Too Perfect gash right down the middle. One hundred percent fucking with her. Bulma cracked open her tool kit and got to work.

“You know, you don’t have to ruin my equipment just to hang out with me,” Bulma said with a wink.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I’m just saying,” she continued, “we do live in the same house and all. If you want to see me, I’d rather you just knock on my door. Saves parts.”

“Hmph.”

“Not that I mind a free exhibition. You’re a really beautiful fighter. I mean, you have great form.”

That was enough to make Vegeta pause mid-sit-up. It was the first compliment she paid him in a month, possibly the only one that hadn’t been served with a heaping portion of sarcasm. He looked at her, frowned, and started again.

“What would you know about it,” he said, dismissively.

“I’ve been to a lot of tournaments. Plus practices, sparring matches, you name it. Hell, I dated a fighter for fifteen years. You’re so graceful, you make Yamcha look completely uncoordinated.”

He snorted. “That’s because he is.”

“No, he isn’t.” He was, of course, but damned if she was going to give Vegeta the satisfaction of agreeing with him. “Just compared to you—that’s all.”

Watching his torso curl and relax made Bulma’s mind race. Vegeta _was_ a beautiful fighter. He was beautiful like this too, sweat tracing the curves of his muscles. Bulma’s plan was slowly disintegrating. This was supposed to be a little flirtatious pay back, revenge for his constant, annoying requests for repairs. Maintenance on things _he_ had broken. Deliberately. Why? Was it meant to be a come on?

Two could play at this game.

The repairs were complete and she had run out of things to take apart and put back together again. It was only a matter of time before he accused her of dawdling. If she was going to make her move, she needed to Woman Up and make it. Bulma closed the access panel with a decisive shove.

“Finished?”

“Almost,” she said. “Can you bring me that towel? Over there, by the wall.”

His eyes followed the point of her finger to where the towel was laying. A flimsy excuse; he’d never fall for it. He glanced back at her with a suspicious frown.

“What do you want it for?”

“Bring it over here and I’ll show you.”

Vegeta pushed himself to his feet. It was amazing how much pride the man could stuff into the twenty paces from the wall to the console. No, ‘pride’ didn’t cut it. Swagger. It was a word that Bulma would have considered ridiculous in any other context, but it fit him as perfectly as one of his gloves. He held the towel out to her stiffly.

“Thanks,” she said. 

Bulma pinched the corner of it between her thumb and forefinger, drawing it from his grip as slowly as she dared. No sooner had she freed it, she let the towel drop onto the floor. She shouldn’t have laughed at the horrified look on his face, but she did. His gaze on her was so intense, she swore she could feel it. If looks could kill, Bulma decided, she would probably be a pile of ashes in the next thirty seconds.

“_What_—“

“I didn’t actually need it,” Bulma explained, trying her best to sound like someone who knew what she was doing, “I just wanted to watch you pick it up.”

Vegeta’s hands snapped into fists at his sides. Bulma had done some Truly Foolish Things in her life, but this was, by far, the winner. According to the fantasy, this was supposed to be the part where he gave her an amused smirk and kissed her. Only, Vegeta did not look amused, he looked _furious_. Arousing-ly furious. Was that a thing? She wasn’t sure, but he sort of looked like he wanted to fuck her into oblivion and she didn’t hate that thought.

Without warning, his fingers tangled in her hair, pulling hard. Backed against the control panel, Bulma had no escape. This was it. This was how she died: killed by her own sexual hubris. Not exactly how she’d pictured it, but all things considered, there were worse ways to go. Her pulse pounded in her ears. His grip on her hair tightened and Bulma gritted her teeth against the sting of it.

“Stop it—You’re scaring me.”

“Am I?” Vegeta asked.

He leaned forward, his cheek close to hers, his nose against her ear. He inhaled deeply, the sharp sound of it sending a hot shiver down her spine. 

“That’s funny,” he purred, “you don’t smell scared. Hmph. Don’t feel scared, either.”

Bulma hadn’t realized how wet she was until she felt his fingers between her slit. His hand was down the front of her shorts now, fingertips skating across her skin with frustratingly delicate pressure. When the hand pulled away, she couldn’t help but whimper. He released her hair with a satisfied grunt. 

“Of course, if you’re scared, there’s the door. Leave—I won’t stop you.”

He brought his fingers to his mouth, sucked them clean. His eyes glowed with a lascivious hunger that made her toes curl. He was right, there was the door. She should use it. Slip outside and back to the house, forget this whole thing.

Then again, fuck it.

“What if I don’t want to leave?”

There was the amused smirk she’d been expecting.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

She did as she was told, though not out of fear—he was right, she wasn’t afraid. Or, perhaps she was, just not of him. Afraid of herself. Afraid, because she liked the hungry way he looked at her. Because he’d scarcely touched her and she was already wanting. Because she had come here to tease him and this was very much Not In The Plan. Vegeta reached his arms around her, his chest against her back. His hands caressed her throat, her breasts, her waist. He tugged at the waistband of her shorts.

“Take them off.”

The fabric brushed her thighs as it slid to the floor, leaving behind the cool rush of air. His hand was warm against her sex. The door to the Gravity Chamber was still wide open. What would she say, if she was caught half naked with Vegeta’s fingers inside her? Her legs parted for him, drawing him in deeper. Bulma gripped the edge of the control panel, brushing her clit against his palm with a roll of her hips.

She gasped as his other hand wrapped around her throat. There was no pressure in his grip; he simply held her there, the heel of his hand resting against her collarbone almost gently. Bulma leaned into his hand, liking the feel of it, wanting more.

“Please,” she begged.

“Please _what_?” 

His fingers slipped out of her, dragging across her clit with a touch too good to be human.

“Oh, fuck me,” she said, more of a comment than a command, but nevertheless, he obeyed.

In a flash, she was lifted off her feet and bent over the gravity control panel. His cock entered her like a revelation, sudden and divine. With one arm around her waist, he drove into her with quick strokes. Firm. Sure. Like a punch. His fingers once again twisted in her hair, pulling her back to rest against his chest with a roughness that coaxed a moan out of her. Bulma never wanted it to end.

His lips were soft against the crook her of neck. Bulma hadn’t expected him to be much of a kisser, but she certainly was not prepared for what happened next. Vegeta bit into her with a growl. Not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to hurt. The bite sent a sharp wave of pain through her that collided with the pleasure between her legs. The sensations melded, swirling in a rush of endorphins. Shaking in his grasp, she came. If this was how she died, Bulma decided, it was worth it. 

The rhythm of his hips began to falter. She felt his stomach seize and contract against her back as he pushed deep into her, a sudden, hitched breath the only sound of his orgasm. He held her for moment, running his tongue along the teethmarks on her neck, before setting her down against the control panel.

“Wow,” Bulma managed, still trying to catch her breath. Was the room spinning, or was it just her? “That was...“

Awesome. Incredible. Terrifying. Certifiably idiotic.

Her arms shook as she pushed herself upright. She pulled her shorts back up, hating the way the cold, dampened fabric felt against her skin. When she turned to face Vegeta, he was already gone. As Bulma started back towards the house, she wondered if he would ask her to repair the Gravity Chamber again tomorrow. Secretly, she hoped she would.

**Author's Note:**

> Head-canon that Saiyans do neck bites while mating, like cats. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
